Chapter 21
The following morning, I stood in front of the massive, floor-to-ceiling mirror in my designated guest suite, staring at my reflection with absolute horror.
I looked like I was starring in a terrible action movie.
Alexander had sent an estate maid to my room at 0700 hours with a neatly folded pile of black tactical clothing. "The General's orders, Madam," the maid had said with a polite bow.
I was currently wearing tight black tactical pants, heavy combat boots that felt like they weighed ten pounds each, and a fitted black long-sleeve shirt that zipped up to my neck.
I looked completely ridiculous. I was a twenty-two-year-old pediatric nurse who liked floral dresses and cardigans. I was not a covert operative.
I tied my hair back into a tight ponytail and trudged downstairs.
Alexander was waiting in the grand foyer.
He was dressed in identical black tactical gear, though on him, it didn't look ridiculous. It looked lethal. The tight fabric clung to his broad chest and thick arms, making him look twice as intimidating as he did in his formal uniform.
He watched me descend the stairs, his sharp gray eyes sweeping over my outfit.
"You look..." he paused, his jaw tightening slightly as his gaze lingered on the tight fit of my shirt. "...adequately equipped."
"I look like a ninja who got lost on her way to the hospital," I grumbled, crossing my arms over my chest, entirely uncomfortable.
Alexander didn't smile. He turned and opened the heavy front doors. "The vehicle is waiting."
The drive to the private military range was tense. Alexander sat beside me in the armored SUV, reviewing a secure tablet, completely silent. I spent the entire twenty-minute ride aggressively chewing my thumbnail, terrified of the loud noises and heavy machinery awaiting me.
We pulled into a highly secure, underground concrete bunker. There were no other soldiers around. The entire facility had been completely cleared for the General's private use.
Ethan stood by the entrance to the firing lanes, holding a clipboard and wearing heavy ear protection around his neck.
"Good morning, General. Madam," Ethan greeted smoothly. "The lane is hot. Weapons have been prepped according to your specifications."
"Thank you, Colonel," Alexander said, stepping past him into the massive, echoing concrete room.
I followed him, my combat boots dragging heavily on the floor. At the end of the lane, fifty yards away, hung a paper target shaped like a human torso.
On the metal table in front of us sat three handguns, several magazines of ammunition, and a pair of heavy earmuffs.
Alexander picked up the smallest, sleekest black handgun. He checked the chamber with frightening, mechanical speed, his hands moving with absolute muscle memory.
"This is a standard-issue 9mm," Alexander stated bluntly, holding the weapon out toward me. "It is lightweight, reliable, and possesses minimal recoil. Hold it."
I stared at the gun like it was a live rattlesnake.
"Alexander, please," I whispered, my natural shyness completely taking over. "I don't want to hold it. It's scary."
"Grace." His deep voice was a calm, uncompromising rumble. "Take the weapon."
With trembling fingers, I reached out and took the gun. It was cold. It was heavy. It felt entirely unnatural in my small hands.
"Your grip is incorrect," Alexander noted immediately.
He stepped directly behind me. The heat of his massive body instantly enveloped me, effectively blocking out the cold, sterile air of the bunker.
He reached around my body, his large, calloused hands covering mine. He gently, but firmly, adjusted my fingers around the grip of the gun.
"Left hand supports," he commanded softly, his lips hovering dangerously close to my ear. "Right hand controls the trigger. Do not place your finger on the trigger until you intend to fire."
I nodded jerkily, completely distracted by the feeling of his chest pressed against my back and the scent of cedar wrapping around me.
"Keep your arms straight. Lock your elbows," he instructed.
I pushed my arms out, pointing the gun down the lane.
"Widen your stance," he added, his heavy combat boot gently nudging the inside of my ankle until my legs were spread apart. "Lean forward slightly. Anticipate the recoil."
"I'm terrified," I whispered honestly.
"I am right here," he stated, his voice a solid, unyielding anchor. "You are perfectly safe."
He stepped back, though he stayed within arm's reach. He handed me the heavy earmuffs. I put them on, the silence of the room suddenly becoming muffled and heavy.
Alexander picked up his own ear protection, signaling to Ethan, who pressed a button on the wall. A red light flashed above the lane.
Alexander tapped my shoulder and pointed down the lane.
*Shoot.*
My heart hammered a frantic, erratic beat against my ribs. I squeezed my eyes shut, gripped the gun as tightly as I could, and pulled the trigger.
*BANG!*
The sound was violently loud, even through the earmuffs. The recoil of the gun was significantly more aggressive than I anticipated.
The force threw my arms upward, my balance completely shattered. I stumbled backward, letting out a sharp, panicked squeak as my feet tangled together.
I didn't hit the concrete floor.
I slammed directly back in?to Alexander's solid chest.
His massive arms wrapped around my waist instantly, catching me with effortless strength. He plucked the handgun from my trembling fingers, engaging the safety with a swift click, and set it on the table.
I was gasping for air, my heart racing, completely mortified by my pathetic failure.
I pulled my earmuffs off, ready for the stern military lecture. I was ready for him to bluntly tell me my stance was flawed, my grip was weak, and my tactical execution was a disaster.
Instead...
The bunker was silent.
I looked up at him over my shoulder.
Alexander was looking down at me. The rigid, terrifying, uncompromising lines of his face had completely broken.
His eyes were crinkled at the corners. His mouth was open. And a deep, rich, rumbling sound vibrated from his chest, right through the tactical gear, and into my back.
General Alexander Reeves was laughing.
It wasn't a smirk. It wasn't a quiet chuckle. It was a genuine, full-chested, unrestrained laugh. The sound was incredibly deep, incredibly rare, and entirely breathtaking.
*Clatter.*
Across the room, Ethan's heavy metal clipboard hit the concrete floor.
I looked over. Ethan was staring at Alexander, his mouth slightly open in absolute, unadulterated shock. The composed, calculating Colonel looked like he had just witnessed a ghost.
I looked back at my husband.
The laugh slowly faded, but the devastating, brilliant smile remained on his face. It transformed him. He didn't look like a terrifying General anymore. He looked like the most incredibly handsome man on the face of the earth.
"You closed your eyes, Grace," Alexander said, his voice thick with lingering amusement.
"I was scared!" I defended weakly, my cheeks burning furiously, though my chest was swelling with an overwhelming amount of joy. "I told you it had a kick!"
"You missed the target entirely," he noted, the smile still touching his lips. "You shot the ceiling."
I looked down the lane. There, in the thick concrete ceiling ten feet above the paper target, was a fresh bullet hole.
I hid my burning face behind my hands, groaning loudly. "I am a disaster. Please take me home. I am a danger to national security."
Alexander reached out, his large hands gently wrapping around my wrists, pulling my hands away from my face.
The amusement in his gray eyes softened into something much deeper. Something incredibly intense and utterly possessive.
"You are not a disaster," Alexander said, his voice dropping into that low, dangerous register that always made my knees weak. "You are just untrained. We will try again."
He didn't step away. He stood perfectly still, his thumbs slowly brushing against the pulse points on my wrists. The heavy, electric tension returned, wrapping around us like a physical weight in the cold concrete bunker.
Ethan aggressively cleared his throat, finally recovering from his shock. He bent down and picked up his clipboard.
"General," Ethan called out, his professional mask hastily reassembled. "Shall I prepare a new target? Or perhaps patch the ceiling?"
Alexander didn't look at Ethan. His eyes remained locked entirely on mine.
"Prepare a new target, Colonel," Alexander ordered bluntly.
He let go of my wrists and picked the handgun back up. He checked the chamber, disengaged the safety, and held it out to me.
"Open your eyes this time, Grace," he commanded softly.
I took the gun, my hands far steadier than before. The fear was gone. It had been completely wiped away by the sound of his laugh and the heat of his touch.
I stepped up to the line. I widened my stance. I locked my elbows.
I kept my eyes open.
And as I pulled the trigger, hitting the very edge of the paper target, I realized something completely terrifying.
I didn't just love him.
I was ready to tell him.
***
?? THE GENERAL LAUGHED! ?? Ethan dropping the clipboard is literally all of us right now! ??
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Grace is ready to confess her feelings, but how is Alexander going to react when she does?! Let me know your thoughts in the comments! Mwaah!